Wait for the Static to Clear
by emrysmile
Summary: Twenty-nine minutes later Arthur received the call." Arthur/Merlin pre-slash. Warning: VERY angsty.


**Author:** Georgia (Merlin'sGeekyFan)  
**Summary:** _Twenty-nine minutes later Arthur received the call._  
**Pairing: **Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings: **Serious injury and oodles of angst.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count: **1390  
**Special Notices:** Thanks to Dani who held my hand through this little fic and Chloe who wasn't there when I wrote it but helped me work out the scruffy plot! They are epic.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin. I can't be bothered to be funny and/or interesting this early in the morning.

The shrill blare of the radio alarm clock – purposely tuned in to static for reasons Merlin has explained yet Arthur has never comprehended – jolted Arthur from his cosy sleep to the harsh grey light of the Bristol morning. His pillow no longer cradled his head in a soft embrace as it had in his slumber for now he was only acutely aware of the large dribble stain pressed against his cheek. Rain hammered on the chipped window panes and slipped through the small gap Merlin has insisted on leaving open to splatter on Arthur's forehead. A rustle in the opposite bed, a muffled grumble then the thud of fist on plastic. The alarm shut up. Thank Christ for that.

Bed springs creaked as Merlin rolled off his mattress and onto the coarse grey carpet, and he made truly obscene amounts of noise as he dressed for the day. Arthur's pillow was now totally saturated through both drool and errant rain water so he shuffled out from under his warm covers and into his room mate's now empty bed and watched absently as Merlin fumbled his way into a pair of ripped jeans. Ripped through wear and not 'fashion'. Next came the usual inside-out t-shirt and the battered trainers. A few curses as Merlin glanced in the mirror and _noticed _his t-shirt, he quickly tugged it on the right way round and slung his bag over his bony shoulder and left with a hoarse "bye".

One, two, three, four, _now_-

Merlin charged back into the room and snatched his biology and chemistry books up from his paper-strewn desk. A sheepish smile and he was gone again.

Arthur glared at the glowing red lines on the alarm clock. 6:00am glared right back at him. Nothing new there.

Rolling over Arthur buried his face in Merlin's pillow, inhaled the scent of Merlin's fruity shampoo as he did every morning and fell asleep at seven minutes past six; bang on schedule.

* * *

At the much more sensible time of eight thirty Arthur reached his own film studies lecture and took probably useless notes without much thought as the dull monotone of Professor Smok washed past him.

He returned to the dorms with ten more pages of notes than he'd left with and still no Merlin in sight. Not surprising, he shrugged it off, Merlin's science lecturer Professor Gaius did have a tendency to ramble on for an extra twenty minutes or so. But even Gaius had his limits and Arthur knew Merlin would be back soon and so he set to making lunch, cheese and pickle sandwiches. Food fit for any king so long as that king attends Bristol University. Ten minutes later Arthur had devoured his own sandwich to appease his rumbling stomach and sat with his laptop to hash out a few more sentences for his latest essay assignment.

Eighteen minutes later Arthur ate Merlin's sandwich too. Ungrateful bugger wasn't quick enough so of course Arthur could have it!

Twenty-three minutes later Arthur was getting nervous. Merlin was a quick walker and for a stick of man his appetite was quite frightening. Nothing kept Merlin from his lunch. Where was he?

Twenty-nine minutes later Arthur received the call.

Thirty-six minutes later Arthur reached the hospital, stomach emptied of its cheese and pickle into the dormitory toilet.

* * *

The whole situation was wrong. In all the years Arthur had know Merlin his best friend had never been still, not quite. When he sat in lectures Merlin twirled his pen, when they talked his arms flew about explaining everything his mouth couldn't, even in his sleep Merlin wriggled and squirmed through the night until he was curled into the tightest ball possible.

Now he was still. Horribly, impossibly still and infested with tubes. Thick clear tubes that went down his throat, thin delicate tubes taped against the back of his hand, tubes that took things in and tubes that sucked things out and tubes that Arthur daren't even look at let alone touch for fear he'd end his best friend's life.

A car crash, that's what the doctor had told him. A drunken man in a stolen car had charged down the roads and hadn't stopped for Merlin halfway over the zebra-crossing. It was only thanks to Merlin's injury that the police had caught up to the thief. Arthur wondered if the police cared at all about Merlin lying here, so still and paler than even Merlin was allowed to be, unable to breath on his own and covered in angry purple bruises and blood-stained gauze and so many _tubes_.

The sight of Merlin so frail, the endless miles of tubes, the steady beep of Merlin's heart monitor – assuring as it was – was slowly driving Arthur mad and he slipped out of the room to press his forehead against the cool wall. Guilt clawed at him for leaving Merlin alone. His best mate since before they could speak and he could barely look at him as he struggled to breath. The door to the room next door was ajar and Arthur knew from when he had passed by earlier that an eight-year-old curly redhead lay on the starched white sheets with an innocent smile spread over her face. Inside a nurse was reading to her and Arthur pressed his back to the wall between the two rooms to listen.

"-up by the throne lay the king and queen. Then he went on still farther, and all was so quiet that a breath could be heard, and at last he came to the tower, and opened the door into the little room where briar-rose was sleeping. There she lay, so beautiful that he could not turn his eyes away, and he stooped down and gave her a kiss. But as soon as he kissed her, briar-rose opened her eyes and awoke, and looked at him quite sweetly."

Arthur scoffed under his breath. Merlin would never wake from his coma to some gallant prince's kiss. No, right now Merlin teetered on the edge of death, clinging on to life by his grasp on but a few plastic tubes. That grip slipped further every second.

As the nurse went on Arthur was unable to listen and returned to Merlin's room. A chair was set near the bed, no doubt for visitors just like Arthur now, and he slumped down in it with a grunt, his bones heavy and tired as if he were a feebly old man rather than his young athletic self. He longed for Merlin to crack a joke at him for that, tease him for his extra year of age and how soon he'd need a zimmer frame. Of course he didn't.

The door opened slightly and a nurse stepped in, a book of fairytales tucked under her arm. Quickly she checked Merlin's vitals and refreshed one of the IV bags then left without a word, only a swift squeeze of reassurance to Arthur's shoulder.

As the door swung shut Arthur shuffled to the edge of his chair and leaned forward to rest his arms on the hospital bed – not Merlin's bed, Merlin's bed was warm and slightly lumpy and in Wills Hall – to stare at Merlin's blank face.

It was stupid. Arthur knew that. Arthur also knew that it wouldn't make a blind bit of difference and Merlin would probably slap him for it when he woke up thanks to the doctor's diligent work. But that didn't stop his heart thudding double speed against his ribs, nor did it stop his sweaty palms as Arthur leaned closer to Merlin's lips. The kiss was soft, barely there at all really and chaste as any fairytale. When Merlin didn't respond Arthur screwed up his eyes against the tears that wanted to spill and pressed his lips more firmly to Merlin's.

Still nothing.

Arthur pulled away and rested his head on the cool hospital sheets, tangled his hand with Merlin's thin fingers. He refused to look at Merlin's face. That's how Arthur slept, bent uncomfortably over the arm of his plastic chair, fingers laced with Merlin's and his head leant against Merlin's thigh over the crisp covers.

Arthur waited to wake at six am to the sweet screech of static, the gentle caress of icy rain on his face, and the irreplaceable grumbles of his Merlin.


End file.
